Sean Lanham
Google
Proof that bread can change a man.
Y’all. Strap in and butter your biscuits, because I am about to tell you how a BBQ-devoted, brisket-biased, meat-sweatin’ through summer Texan — had a borderline religious experience at a dang bread bakery.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “This man probably thinks sourdough is a fancy term for ‘where’s the meat?’” And normally? You’d be RIGHT. But Union Loafers didn’t just serve bread. They served purpose. They served art. They served a carb-driven awakening that shook me to my smoked-meat-loving core.
I rolled in for an early dinner, and let me tell you, this place was already bumpin’ like a honky-tonk at happy hour. But BAM — no wait. We were seated faster than my wife finds a new book to buy. Service? 10 outta 10 and sharper than a brisket knife at a church picnic.
I kicked things off with an ice-cold Stag — a classic Pabst lager from Milwaukee that came in lookin’ like it just clocked out of a shift and wanted to watch a ball game. Crisp, clean, no nonsense. The kind of beer that doesn’t need to tell you what hops it used because it knows you’ve got fences to mend and meat to smoke.
Starters? Oh, buddy.
The Caesar salad — romaine so crisp it could shatter, dressed in something tangy, garlicky, and just spicy enough to raise an eyebrow. The caper-chili flake-breadcrumb-Grana Padano-black pepper combo? That’s not salad seasoning — that’s swagger.
The meatballs and burnt toast? The meatballs were tender, juicy, and swimming in a house marinara that tasted like someone’s Nonna whispered sweet nothings into each tomato. And that toast? That glorious slab of charred sourdough, slicked with olive oil and blanketed in cheese, changed me.
Then the headliner arrived:
Pepperoni Pizza — half upgraded with mushrooms and jalapeños because I like to live dangerously. When it landed on the table, I knew I was about to commit emotional infidelity on my smoker. The crust? Charred, chewy, and clearly the result of sorcery. The Calabrian chilis brought the heat, the herbs made it feel fancy, and the pepperoni? Curled at the edges like it was flexin’. The mushrooms added earthy depth, and the jalapeños? Texas-approved fire. Every bite was a full-on flavor rodeo.
By the second slice, I was leaning back thinking about real estate in St. Louis. This pizza looked like it was ready for its magazine cover shoot. I stared at it longer than I did my first truck.
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TL;DR:
Union Loafers took a lifelong BBQ lover and made him reconsider his food pyramid. I’m not saying I’m giving up BBQ — let’s not get crazy — but folks, this place is bread-blessed and flavor-anointed.
10/10. Would I go back? I’d cross state lines. I’d make a detour. I’d put this place on the GPS under “Emergency Pizza Situation”, and maybe even miss a football game for this.